Assassin's Tango
by CypressArtemis
Summary: Dance with me precious, through the streets tonight. The tango of the unsuspecting, the type that brings a smile to an evil angel's face. Let me lick my lips. Savoring just what it will be like. Meet the face of your god, dark and deadly. Meet the executioner as he stalks you with a shiver first, and ends your life with a blade.


**Title: **Assassin's Tango

**By: **CypressArtemis

**Summary: **An unfortunate event with an Elder Scroll is all it takes and the Dovahkiin finds herself in Cyrodiil, 200 years in the past and hunted by the Dark Brotherhood.

_Dance with me precious, through the streets tonight.  
The tango of the unsuspecting, the type that brings a smile to an evil angel's face.  
Let me lick my lips. Savoring just what it will be like.  
Meet the face of your god, dark and deadly. Meet the executioner as he stalks you with a shiver first, and ends your life with a blade._

– _Peterdawes_

**Chapter 1**: Chorus of the Hunt

* * *

Breathing.

Rapid, heavy, determined.

Forceful puffs like a majestic whale breaking the ocean's surface so sate its appetite for oxygen.

The clink of metal.

Jingling, quivering, rattling.

Chiming a seductive melody like the wind whispering through the branches, rattling the leaves in a song of nature.

Footsteps.

Sprinting, persistent, resounding.

Disturbing the wildlife with their earnest beat like a pulsating heart, thumping and rushing in the sweetest ecstasy, a dance of passion.

The Rift's uninhabited forest stretched for miles, procuring an abundance of wildlife. Plants to serve as Alchemy ingredients would be harvested in the later afternoon hours when the shadows stretched long and the bright ever-present sunlight made hiding near impossible.

For now it was the early morning, sun barely above the horizon peaking out amongst the mountains. A thick mist hung over the thicket, coating the trees and flowers in heavy dew. The moisture effectively masked scents, obscured eyesight, and chilled the air just south of pleasant.

Her boots struck the ground repeatedly. The crunch of dying, dried leaves met her ears and those of a lop-eared rabbit hopping into a burrow for safety. Tiny brown beady eyes poked out from the concave shelter, shimmering almost glowing in the darkened surroundings. Studded armor jingled as steaks of light broke through the fog to glint on the melted down iron ingots. A quiver of arrows rustled behind her back with each step or jump over an upturned log. The long wooden shafts rattling against each other as the feathered ends tangled in the deep silken tresses of her ebony hair.

A steel tipped arrow was already drawn from its resting place and clutched tightly, the fingers of her right hand curled securely around the oak shaft and the silver band of her ring clinked on the solidity. Dirt molded to the underside of her fur boots, caking between the cracks and mucking up the brown hued pelt that kept her feet warm in the harshest environments.

Her hunting bow was drawn, the rich mahogany wood, sturdy and reliable, held tight in her left as she braced herself and vaulted over the rough bark of a collapsed tree. A vast quantity splintered under the weighted pressure with the emerald foliage of moss molding its parasitic coating upon it, the damp scent of wet wood and decay emanating from the fallen chunks. Claw marks marred the twisted trail, stained with a deep rouge and an overpowering acidic smell that made her excitement peak and a sinister inner hunger flare. Tiny scattered droplets led deeper and deeper into the thick brush ahead.

Blue gaze scanned the surroundings for bigger predators that may become attracted to the commotion, like bears, as she followed the trail at a brisk pace, a sharp ear trained to the melody of the forest. The shrill chips of birds and the rustle of leaves pervaded the air. A faraway snarl resounded as she pushed on, her stamina straining to keep pace with the nimble prey. Though wounded, it fled at top speed, fright and instinct its only motivation to escape, its will to live almost admirable.

The hunter's boots sprinted through a puddle of murky rainwater that had pooled along a stretch of path, a minuscule shower of liquid pelted the dirt as she left muddy footprints in her wake. Her panting was deafening within her own ears and she skidded to a stop as a fork appeared around a billowing maple tree. Sap riveted, a honey golden molasses, down stripping bark that made her nearly fling her knapsack off her shoulder and fish for an empty vial to collect a sample, but the scarlet painting the ground and blending into the earth and grass led to a moment of a confused standstill.

Huffing, her gaze was slow and ever shifting as she searched the forest floor for the remnants of a blood trail or a tuft of bay colored hair frayed off the pelt. Fingernails scraped into the arrow shaft when a mighty howl pierced the air to the left. Within seconds her body pivoted and she was racing wildly through the wilderness one more.

**Nordic ideals have always gravitated themselves around the importance of honor and glory, with family being the greatest achievement one can accomplish in a lifetime… **

**You can say from an onlookers standpoint, for a Nordic family mine was quite… broken.**

**Literally. **

_There's always been something about a person's voice that had intrigued her since childhood. The tone, the natural accent, the lilt of it, the very texture is, in itself, power. Conveyance of emotions and thoughts are reliant on these things to invoke a desired response because it isn't what is said that matters, but in very essence, the way it is spoken. Could a foreign tongue so alight with feeling as the damsel sings bring one to tears without such emphasis otherwise? _

_Rosalind was born on 14__th__ of Frostfall, a deep autumn night of frozen nipping air and twirling multicolored leaves that dance on the breezes' currents. Fitting for the birth of a Nord child innate with the natural blood to resist the chill of frost and a destiny surrounded in death._

_Her mother, a beautiful but promiscuous woman, rumored to the secret worship of the goddess Dibella, became the envy of her neighboring women when she had moved into the quaint settlement of Falkreath. Frumpy housewives, aged and overworked, overburdened with multiple children and the demands of keeping their land running no longer had time to contend with a youthful unattached lady such as her. _

_Going by the name Servia, an Imperial name, caused another uproar amongst the little gossip parties held at a different house on a near day to day basis. The Nord women were appalled by this considering the brink of Civil War and the fight to sweep the lands of Imperial tyranny and Elven corruption. Their scrutinizing wasn't just restricted to the foreign red haired woman but she was a common topic in the streets or tea parties. _

_Servia, however, cared little for the fact that her fellow female citizens were insistently badmouthing her. When she walked through the streets, dressed always to perfection in fancy frilly dresses complete with makeup and done up hair, she made sure to smile and wave at each one of them. Most times they would scoff and continue on with raking the garden or spreading the seed as she wandered into the tavern to work as a server and flirt with the males._

_On nights when she brought a particularly handsome traveler to her home the lights remained on till the wee hours of the night. Of course her neighbor knew this because she stood at her window nosily gawking at the woman's house till she and her companion emerged._

_Servia would proceed to giggle, a bright smile on her ruby lips, her maroon hair messed and undone to hang down her back in great waves as her ocean blue eyes remained dazed and glassy with lust. Her ivory skin paling in the moonlight as she bid her company farewell with a chaste kiss and an arm squeeze that screamed of playful satisfaction. It was around this time the onlooker in the window would shake her head shamefully at this unrestricted display of immorality and snap closed the curtains. _

_It had become a normal occurrence and although scandalous and the talk of the town in the beginning after months of routine the buzzing died to a dull murmur and said neighbor, Freya, had become on friendly terms with the Dibella worshipper. _

_Everything went along as normal when a group of soldiers had wandered into the hold for drinks and rest at the local inn. Their leader, a handsome built Nord, had caught her attention that night. He was strong, stronger than his companions. A muscular male with strong cheekbones and squared jaw dusted with black stubble, his deep eyes nearly black in the dim firelight settled themselves on her in the most alluring of ways. _

_Over the course of serving him drinks she had come to find out his name was Axel and he was a highly regarded warrior. A few meads after her shift and she was laughing and smiling amongst the swarm of men, perched provocatively in Axel's lap until he leaned in to whisper seductive suggestions in her ear until she lead him by the hand down the street to her home. _

_The next morning he had left and unlike most of the men Servia had bedded in the name of her goddess he hadn't returned to see her, but it seemed understandable considering the war and his importance. _

_Weeks that went by were slow and one particular morning Freya had been out in the garden harvesting some herbs and placing them contently in labeled jars. She was hunched over the rosemary humming a little tune, her gardening gloves sullied with mire as she plucked the stems. Lost in her work until Servia had dashed from her home with the crack of the door slamming into the porch, lurched herself over the white picket railing, and proceeded to empty her stomach into the bushes. _

_Tears leaking down her face from being sick and she sniffled into a piece of cloth and wiped her mouth, blue eyes burrowed into her own dusty grays in an almost pleading fancy as though begging her to tell her this was not the first sign of the inevitable truth. There was a moment of connection between them then, concreting itself that day as they stared silent at each other. It was then Freya pushing herself to her feet to comfort the woman who unceremoniously burst into a fit of hysteria, falling upon her knees and sobbing into her dusted dress. _

_It was safe to say the nightly endeavors had stopped after that and within the month Servia's abdomen had developed an ever-growing bump that she desperately hid beneath size too big clothes and dresses. Her hair had gone from lively colored silk to a fussed up mess and her coal eyeliner was always smudged and runny. A former shadow of herself, she had taken on a zombie like trance, carrying out her daily routine while civilians gawked at her. _

_The more the woman began to show the farther she appeared to slip into a state of depression. Freya had the sneaking suspicion it was because she didn't have the means to care for a child, or the desire, and had no idea who to go to for them either. There wasn't a solid guarantee of fatherhood but the woman swore up and down it was between three men she tracked through her journal that matched relatively to her progression thus far. Freya often found herself bringing breakfast in the mornings to ensure she ate and stayed up late over at her house cooking and cleaning and listening to her whine helplessly. _

_Caught up in her guilt Freya came by daily to look after Servia, who had a tendency to do everything she could not to ensure the healthy development of the fetus, hoping for a miscarriage to rid her of her mistake. The other women of the hold laughing and bickering like hens over the misfortunate 'accident' that had occurred. Some even called it a punishment from Arkay for her lewd actions and reprimanded Freya for bothering to associate with her at all, but in all good conscious she couldn't abandon the girl. _

_Freya had been young and stupid and so very much in love when she had gotten pregnant with her oldest boy, a blessing in disguise. The father on the other hand… well she liked to tell people he died in the war but truth be told he ran off with another woman while she was in her 6__th__ month of sickness, leaving her with nothing and no one. _

_So Freya cared for the soon to be mother in the best way she knew how while Servia suffered a deep sadness that only pregnant women came to be associated with. Eventually the time came when Servia clutched her stomach, face contorted in sheer agony as she heaved and panted ready to give birth to her child. Of course Freya was present for the birth as well as the local healer. It was a difficult labor and unfortunately ended in a tragedy, the death of Servia. Not uncommon for the times but still tragic nonetheless. _

_Freya took the baby into her home as she sought out the three men that her once friend had claimed may or may not be the father. In her journal were the names of an Imperial and two Nords. She had received news through rumor and courier that the Imperial had returned back to Cyrodiil months ago and one of the Nords was serving a prison sentence for thievery. The other Nord was serving in the Army as a general for the Stormcloaks though his actual location was unknown his importance would make him easy to find. _

_Taking the information into account sitting at her desk she wrote a single letter and produced it to a courier with a coin purse of gold, profit she had made from crops and a meager inheritance after her dear friend departed. It was only a month later Axel knocked on her door. A fresh scar marred his cheek but that aside he looked exactly the same as she remembered from so long ago. Freya welcomed him into her home serving him a drink as she fetched the baby who had begun to fuss from the back bedroom. _

_The man's hands shaking uncontrollably at the wailing cries, rattled the cup against the saucer as the blonde emerged, cradling the month old child in her arms. She sat beside him at the table, pressing a bottle of milk to the child's lips and smiling a friendly satisfied grin when the baby hushed. "You should have her, but I understand if you'd rather… I mean I would look after her." She had hesitated. Of course she had no desire to insult him but he appeared petrified as he stared at the child in her arms. He was a military man with no wife or ideas of how to give proper care to a child so she offered him an out in the most sincere manner she could. "I just thought you ought to know."_

"_Yes, I uh-" his dark eyes shifted to linger on the cream blanked in her arms. The squirming made it bunch and the little suckling noises seemed loud as hammering in his ears. "I appreciate it." _

_Freya took the bottle away, setting the still half full thing on the table. Her hands rubbing soothingly over the fleece, she appeared hesitant and anxious as she leaned forward almost protectively yet inviting. "Would you care to hold her?" _

"_Um…" His mouth twisted in thought, brows knit in startled wonder. Would he? He wanted to but he fidgeted nervously. He knew how to hold many things. Warhammers, bows, swords, but a baby… He'd never held a baby before, not even his best friend's when he had come to say congratulations to him and his wife when she had their son. "I mean."_

"_Here," Freya stood and closed the distance, settling the bundle of blankets in his arms as she held the child's nape and directed his hand to do the same. "Just be sure to support her head, like this."_

_There was a lengthy pause as he blinked down on what could possibly be his own flesh and blood. A crop of black wisps decorated her otherwise bald head as she suckled her thumb, maybe a little upset to have lost her meal. Her flesh pale as customary for the Nord race and face chubby with baby fat, blue near grey eyes were staring at him from the cocoon of blankets and he felt a tug on his very being. This tiny being could be his own creation, a beautiful piece of himself and a woman he spent a pleasant evening with. _

_He slowly realized he wanted her to be his more than he had come here wanting to find fault with the baby and leave. His black hair and Servia's eyes, perhaps his cheekbones flushed red from her tantrum earlier yawned in his arms. Her tiny fingers leaving her mouth, covered in drool as she reached to grab at his armor. "She looks like me, sort of."_

_Freya half smiled at the comment. The only noticeable connection they may possibly share at this point was her hair color, but she didn't want to be the one to say anything negative in such a delicate tender moment. "The resemblance will only grow the older she gets."_

"_Yeah…" A smile graced his lips when the child gave up reaching at him. Her arms too short so in a frustrated little fit she huffed and stuffed her fist back into her mouth. _

_The blonde sighed and took her seat back at the table. Her guest infatuated with the little bundle of life in his hands paid her little mind at this point but he did glance up when she reached over and paused, her hand slumping onto the tabletop. "Look, Axel, I don't mean to pressure you but," she became silent, her fingers twitched and drummed on the table to resist the urge to take the baby back into her arms. "If you're going to take her I wish you would. I'm already so attached."_

_He frowned as things became serious again. For a long moment he was quiet and the silence stretched between them until he sighed and glanced back down. For a moment Freya got shamefully excited that he would thrust her back into her arms and declare he couldn't raise her properly before walking out the door to return home, but instead he cradled the baby ever closer and looked at her with hopeful eyes. "If you don't mind I'd, I'd like a few days to think about this."_

"_Of course." She nodded, a faint little let down smile on her face. She thought for a moment before offering, "You could stay here in the guest room with her."_

"_I'd like that." He accepted gratefully. This would give him an opportunity to bond with his daughter and preview what being a father entailed. He rose from the table when Freya motioned for him to follow and led him into a small back room._

"_Well this is it." She motioned and he stepped over the threshold to look it over. "Sorry it isn't much."_

_He turned towards her as he shook his head. "Please, don't be embarrassed. It's perfect, truly." His compliment invaded her ears making her smile appreciatively that he didn't consider her or her family lesser because they couldn't afford better. She watched him walk around the room, taking in the decorations lining the walls and tables. The color scheme she tried to pull off of sage green and cream off white drapes and self-made blankets. Speaking of which, "let me get you some more blankets."_

_She left the two alone, hearing the baby gurgle as she pranced down the hallway. In a small cupboard in the master bedroom she produced a nice sized quilt, thick and warm for chilly nights and made a quick stop back in the kitchen to snatch the remainder of the bottle. _

_When she appeared in the doorway Axel was seated at the foot of the bed. He had maneuvered the baby so he held her in one arm while the other hand hovered over her face. His finger traced her cheek as her tiny fist clutched at it and tried to drag it into her mouth. _

_She almost laughed as she walked in and sat the extra blanket beside him. "She wants her bottle." She said, taking a seat next to him and holding it out. "Do you want to feed her?"_

"_Sure," he took it from her hand and waved it around for a minute until Freya helped him angle it just right. She found it amusing how clueless he was but after a moment he caught on. _

"_I'll get her things from my room. If you need anything don't hesitate to come over." She got up to walk out of the room but stopped short when the deep make voice said her name._

"_Thanks, you know." He rocked the baby and nodded to the room. "For everything." _

"_Of course," she nodded and exited the room, proceeding to her own to gather everything he would need to care for her. _

_Freya had wept when Axel made the decision to take her to Windhelm. He had a house there, he was an important man there, he could give her all the best of things that she never could as a farmer's wife. She knew it was for the best in the long run, but she had come to love the girl like her very own. _

_When Axel packed everything together to leave he had offered to bring her back for visits and extended an invitation for her to come up to the house and stay. Even made a point to mention to bring her family with her but if they really sat down and thought about it that was as likely as a dragon swooping down and setting the town ablaze. She could only trust that he would keep his word on coming back to Falkreath._

_Their last conversation, as she held the baby one last time while he loaded a few things into the carriage, he had informed her he had decided on naming the girl Rosalind. A very unique and uncommon Nordic name that originated in the North years ago. It seemed fitting that Freya should at least have the knowledge of her name if nothing else. _

_Tears decorated her cheeks as she handed the tiny girl back to her father and they bade each other farewell. Axel leaned in awkwardly to kiss the woman's cheek in a display of good nature before climbing up into the wooden seat. The man at the reins gave a swish of his arms and the horses were moving, the carriage rocking over uneven terrain as they marched out of town. _

_Freya stood in the street long after the carriage was gone. _

_When Axel returned to Windhelm he was obsessively overcautious about wrapping his child up to evade the cold snow. She may be a Nord but she was still a baby after all. He had taken to setting up her bed in his own room to make sure he knew when she cried at night and that he was close enough to get to her when she needed him. _

_The second thing he had done, that the Jarl was seething about, was to offer a poor traveling Khajiit woman the responsibility of looking after her when he was called away to war. _

_Though the Jarl was respectful enough of one of his best soldiers to ease up on his responsibilities considering the situation, he was still called to duty to close by camps and neighboring towns. Since he didn't have a wife and Rosalind no longer had a mother, having a live-in babysitter just seemed like the next best thing. A baby was too much work for an on call general and as he was passing the door into town he had noticed the Khajiit woman fighting with a cluster of others that had set up shop just outside the city walls._

_In curiosity he had approached her in the guise of a customer and at closer inspection he had noticed some evidence of some sort of abuse. That or extremely rough travel. Her dress was worn and thin, barely keeping out the cold and she shivered continuously. Her pelt was matted with mud to the point he couldn't discern what her original color must have been. One of her ears had a triangular section missing from the side and any sudden movements on his part seemed to make her cower, her ears flattening against her head as she jumped. _

_In the midst of conversation he had managed to pry some of the truth out of her, but she refused to say anymore than two of her male traveling companions were cruel to her. It was vague and left much to the imagination so he had propositioned her with the job that she immediately jumped at despite the town it was in, anything to get out of the streets and away from them. _

_She followed him home, purposely trailing behind with a hand on a steel dagger. Distrust in her eyes for the Nord, but hopeful nonetheless. Her vibrant green eyes were constantly scanning the streets for danger. The residing Nords were most unhappy that the overgrown cat was now prancing around their streets and one took the liberty to spit at her as she walked by. The dark elves smiled with pity burning in their eyes._

_They came to stand before a large house designed to match the others in an old Nordic structure. Axel showed her inside giving her directions into the back room where she was welcome to help herself to a bath. It sounded positively wonderful but she gestured to her tattered dirty gown saying she had nothing clean to put on. _

"_Wait here," He instructed gesturing towards a chair for her to sit but she was reluctant, choosing instead to stand in the center of the room. Axel shrugged and proceeded towards the door and left the house. He had gone out to a stall in the marketplace, purchasing a new dress for the Khajiit that he hoped would fit properly. _

_The shopkeeper leaned over the stall as he pocketed the money, an inquisitiveness lacing his voice as he nodded in the way of the man's home. "What's with bringing the skooma dealer into the city?"_

"_You don't know she's a skooma dealer," Axel's eyes narrowed, his voice deep and correcting like scolding a child or one of his soldiers after making a mistake during drills. _

"_They're all alike," he warned pointing his finger at the man's chest in the same manner his old man did when giving him advice. "Don't let them fool you into thinking otherwise."_

_He nodded with a fake smile that even the blind beggar in the main street would know was artificial and turned his back on the man, stalking back to where he left the Khajiit woman while the shopkeeper screamed behind him. _

"_Remember what I said! I warned you!" _

_It had taken hours for her to scrub the dirt out of her fur but eventually she managed. The bath water had gone from clear blue to a disgusting brown color when all was done, making her cringe in distaste. When she wandered out in her new dress, that grateful as she was to have was about a size too big, dagger still in her hand though with Axel's kindness thus far she scarcely knew why she kept it. When she walked into the living room area he was saying goodbye to a tall brunette woman who handed over what must be the baby girl he had asked her to watch after. _

_When the door shut the Khajiit tilted her head at him, her orange and black ears fitting tight to her skull in a show of submission and slight fear. "Is that the mother?" Her natural feline accent was a rasp purr of hesitance and the Nord male shook his head._

"_Her mother died in childbirth. That was a friend who was watching her for the day." He explained softly, not angry as she had expected. Most Nord men barely spoke to her aside from buying anything and to ask a personal question about their lives was like asking for a beating on the spot. Times were not kind to her race. _

_She watched him walk from the door to a chair and sit before the fire, cradling the sleeping baby as he took a moment just to relax. Her ears flicked up from being burrowed into her cranium and she dared to situate herself just a little closer, curious really to see just what a baby Nord looked like. "Oh, this one sees." _

_Axel noticed her shifting. The way she teetered on either foot, lifted herself on her toes, and craned her head about to try to see over his shoulder. He smiled and tried to get her to take a seat once again that surprisingly she accepted this time. "What is your name?" He asked as she sank into the chair a few feet from his own, the heat of the fire warming her pumpkin orange fur so pleasantly a rumbling purr grew in her chest._

"_I am called Shabhira." Her face was accented by black stripes that ran horizontal on her cheeks and neck, vertical on her forehead to create distinctive markings. Her eyes were lined in deep black as well as her ears, her hair was clipped short and gold earrings adorned her left unhindered one. _

"_Shabhira, this is my daughter Rosalind." He propped the baby enough to show off her sleeping form and Shabhira leaned forward in her seat, studying her face with such an intense interest. "Basically I just need someone to watch her when I have to leave for work and help keep house. I will pay you generously." _

_His voice was serious and held a hint of promise that made her glance up at him skeptically. "This one is awfully kind to a Khajiit in a time of great racism."_

"_I don't hate your race, or any race for that matter." Axel sighed as he tried to think of how to explain himself. He had never been very good with words. Sure he could command a band of troops and bargain a shopkeeper down to a good deal with the best of them, but he sure as hell wasn't a scholar who could turn thoughts to poetry and empty his heart onto paper. "I hate the Thalmor, that is all."_

"_You kill many for this hate of elves." She stated, or more pointed out, but somehow it was not criticizing. _

"_It's not the elves, not even the high elves, just those associated with the Thalmor." He clarified, "We should be able to worship and live as we please."_

_The Khajiit hummed in acceptance of his answer. "Shabhira understands," she flashed a smile of canines that seemed oddly comforting. "And will accept job offer." _

_Shabhira had spent many years looking after the youngling that, compared to Khajiit children, grew relatively slow. It had taken the child many months to get crawling down and even longer till she could walk properly, but her first steps were a moment of pure joy. She could still picture Axel scooping her up after she had toppled back onto her bottom giggling to kiss her forehead, a wide proud grin on his lips. Axel had proven to be a devoted loving father and a very respectful man that she found to be a privilege working for. _

_He paid her a very generous salary just as he had promised, gave her her very own private quarters, and was just friendly towards her in general. What was more shocking was the citizens of Windhelm came to be civil with her just as well, especially when she had Rosalind with her. There was a great respect for Axel and since she was the 'nanny' for his only daughter no one dared to even mutter a cross word in her presence. _

_By the time Rosalind had began to attend school it was Shabhira's duty to ensure her safe escort their and back every day, something she didn't mind. It gave her time to get her chores done while she was gone and she had more time to play with her when she came home. Hide and seek was an all-time favorite and the little girl was starting to pick up the basic tricks to being stealthy that Khajiit inherited naturally. _

_Shabhira loved that child as if she were her very own cub, her actual race didn't matter. And Rosalind was so young and oblivious to the cruelties of the world that racism wasn't a part of her, at least not yet. She would grow up and begin to understand that Shabhira had fur and claws and fangs and that that was not ok to the rest of society, but for now she would enjoy her childhood while it lasted. _

_The girl was around 8 years old when she was sitting on the floor playing with a toy. Shabhira was seated by the fire in the midst of making a blanket, the material as blue as the sky because that was Rosalind's favorite color and her clawed fingers sewed and weaved the thread through as she stuffed it full of cotton. A storm was raging outside when a crack of lightning illuminated the room and thundering ruckus proceeded. The little girl had screamed and bounded into her lap, arms squeezing her neck and she whimpered into her dress. _

_Shabhira cradled her close, rubbing her back soothingly. "It's only a storm little one. No need for fright." She whispered feeling her tiny fists grabbing her dress tightly in her hands as she cried out asking for her daddy. The Khajiit's ears dipped sadly that Axel was stuck out in the rain away from her for the next few days. Instead of responding to her pathetic pleas with a truth that daddy wasn't coming home for a few days she began to hum, singing her a song that she had learned in her homeland. _

_Rosalind had fallen asleep in her arms and Shabhira through great struggle had also managed to finish the blanket. Rose loved that blanket and made Axel tuck her in every night with it thereafter and even made him sing to her, which he admittedly was horrible at but it made his little girl smile. _

_It was only shortly after that Axel was asked for down at the school house. The teacher was, of course, a female Nord and informed him that Rosalind showed great promise when it came to intelligence. She was exceedingly smart for her youthful age and spent most of her time in school reading. The only concern the woman expressed was her lack of socialization. During break times she would spend it skimming through a book rather than participating in playtime with the other children and even seemed to be a bit annoyed by their presence most of the time. Which she told him was very unnatural. _

_Concerned for his daughter's lack of social skills he had asked her who her best friend was and when she mentioned a Imperial girl about two years older than her he had arranged to drop her off at the family's house for a play date. It became a regular thing and sometimes they brought their girl over to his house to give them a break from the running and screaming as they played tag or some other game. At one point he had walked into the kitchen and plucked his little girl off the kitchen table, scolding her for standing on it. She only laughed and hugged him and kissed his cheek before squirming to get down. When he went to set her on the floor she held onto his armor and screamed because apparently the floor was made of fire and she wasn't allowed to touch it. He had signed and sat her on a chair. Kids and their games. _

_As she got older still it became painfully obvious that she was not going to grow to be what was considered average height for the Nordic race. It caused a stir for the Nord children who singled her out for being different. The Imperial children were a bit more welcoming but when her best friend left school permanently to help work on the frozen tundra that her family called a farm she withdrew from them as well. Any elf children that were lucky enough to be admitted to the school never talked to anyone and were bullied by everyone. Shabhira was well aware when this started and frowned the day she came to pick up the girl who was crying that her friend wasn't coming back. The age of innocence had passed and she was 10 now. _

_At home she began to spend most of her time reading, fiddling with a lute, and singing little songs to herself that she had heard for either Shabhira or her father at bedtime. Axel would take her out into the yard and show her the proper way to hold a dagger or show her how to shoot an arrow as Shabhira watched either from the window or the sidelines. They were an odd sort of family by this point, but Rosalind was happy to spend time with her father and wanted to be just like him one day._

_Every couple of days Axel would teach her something new of help her perfect something, stressing the importance of knowing how to protect oneself in case anything should ever happen. Rose wanted to learn for the sake of following in her father's footsteps and making him proud but Axel just wanted to make sure that she was safe wherever she went._

_Things went on like that for a while and she was interested for a time, but of course the older she got the less she wanted to be a warrior like daddy. She became extremely interested in music by the time she turned 13 and although Axel was slightly relieved that she was showing interest in other things he was also a little disappointed. Bards weren't revered and didn't make much money to begin with, but the thought of her trying to make a living in bars around drunken men with her growing beauty just made him downright uncomfortable. _

"_I don't want her to be a bard," he sat at the table talking to Shabhira one morning. She was slicing up potatoes for a stew as he laced up his boots and situated his gear. Orders came in and he was off to a nearby camp to bring some much needed supplies. "You know how people are."_

"_Yes, Shabhira knows what this one speaks of," she began peeling a new vegetable, stripping the skin clean with the knife. Her hands were steady and calculated, methodic as she had done the task many times before. "But Axel must trust that his teachings are not in vain. She will be strong enough to care for herself."_

"_I just-" He sighed a heavy sigh as he slumped back in his chair defeated. It creaked at all the extra weight of his armor and he rubbed a hand over his face, concentrating on his temples. "I worry for her."_

"_To be a good father one must worry." The knife changed angles and she sliced the potato longwise in half and dropped it into a pot of water resting on the table. "To worry is to care." She smiled compassionately and he nodded. _

"_Thank you, Shabhira," He pushed up from the chair and strapped the sword to his hip before leaving the house. The orange pelted Khajiit gathering the pot and set it over the fire to start dinner early. Axel probably wouldn't make it back in time. There was no telling how long these jobs would take but he'd be home sometime within the week and they would probably pick up the conversation right where it left off. _

_Rose had just turned 20 when the war had gotten truly bad. Holds were under attack, everyone was choosing sides, and Ulfric had become more and more unfair to the growing elf population. Forcing them to live in the slums and shoving the Argonians out of the city all together. The Khajiit's never bothered to come into the walls out of fear and instead sold things out of caravans to avoid confrontations. _

_Rosalind had been an aspiring bard for many years, perfecting her voice and playing at the Candlehearth Hall most nights. If there was ever a lingering doubt of paternity in the back of Axel's mind it was long gone at this point. She took after him in both appearance and personality, which could be considered a great relief on his part. At least he didn't have to worry about her being promiscuous like her mother, gods rest her soul. _

_She had her fathers raven hair, layered and feathered down past her shoulders. Some was clipped at chin level to frame her face pleasantly and a few strands were clipped to hang down and hover at her left cheekbone. Her blue eyes were her mother's only inherited feature and were accented nicely by the deep color and shapely eyebrows, thin and naturally arched. True enough she hadn't grown to a generous size, short and thin, she was still considered quite pretty. _

_Unfortunately the fact that she hadn't cleared average height was weighted against her in terms of ever being considered wife and mother material for a Nord male. It may seem shallow but a woman's worth was based mostly on appearances. They wanted sons and they wanted them to grow into strong able bodied warriors so an intelligent petite woman with an angel voice wasn't exactly high on their list of potential wives. _

_Imperials were under the impression that most, if not all, Nords were blundering brutes with the thought process of a troll. Somehow they had earned the reputation in Cyrodiil as being giant drunken morons with muscles and warhammers and although this was true for some of the race, it certainly wasn't for all of them. Gods only knew what other races thought of them with the war and Ulfric's racist ideals circling Skyrim at this point. _

_Rose was playing at the inn the night before she had made arrangements to leave Windhelm. All her things were packed and she was ready to find her own place to live though it was unclear how long that would take, maybe months, but being considered an adult now it seemed only right she be on her own._

_That was the only thing Axel had ever worried about, her adventurous nature. Even as a child she was always wandering off when he specifically instructed that she stay where he could see her. She never listened and she was never going to stay in Windhelm her whole life so he had no other option than to give his blessing. His only request was that she write him as often as possible. _

_Shabhira had enough means to live on her own as well but there was no telling if any place would be welcoming to her, so she had opted to return to her homeland. She had left a week ago after a tearful goodbye and it was still weird to come home and see her empty room, but it was for the best. Who knew how long Ulfric would continue to allow her to live with them. _

_Ironically enough it was after she had left home to start a new life that everything had fallen apart. _

Panting.

Rumbling, gnarling, howling.

Growls emitting from sharp teeth and maw like any great stalking predator.

Swishing of a tail.

Rustling, steering, balancing.

Cascading fur curved upward, gently swiping tree bark like a lover's caress.

Paw prints.

Embedding, stalking, fervent.

Relentless curved nails digging up clods in traction on dirt paths, mapping out a trail like a scout for a general.

The tawny almost rust colored muzzle snapped, snarling out great gulps of air. The predator's heart pulsating with the thrill of the chase and the hardy odor of salty blood and exposed raw meat. Tendon and muscle was greeted by the elements due to a large gash made in the prey's hide nearly a mile back near the river, evidence of the strike still dripped from the panting maw of the pursuer. Saliva mixed with the blood and as the wolf sprinted onward it flew from his jaws and littered the ground like pink rain.

Sharp ice pick like claws curved and dug into the soil, turning up dirt and plants in their wake. Triangular ears twitched backwards seeking the familiar sound of footsteps. When none could be determined the hunter turned its jaws to the sky and released a mighty howl.

_Rose had begun taking to training herself how to be a better hunter for many reasons. First, it was cheaper to provide her own food than to have to buy it from the shopkeepers. Not only that but in the midst of long journeys between towns there were no shops conveniently placed unless she walked completely out of the way. She could stock up beforehand but buying that much food in advance added too much weight to carry. _

_Second, the pelts she could acquire could be sold for extra coin or even used as raw materials if she wanted to make a new blade or improve her armor. It could also serve as a layer of protection from the frozen ground or even a blanket when she decided to camp out in the woods when walking became too tiresome._

_Third, and most importantly, Aela would probably skin her alive if she didn't learn how to take down a deer soon. The huntress had been teacher her marksmanship for two weeks now and it was obvious she was getting tired of failure. So in an attempt to give her shield sister a break and give herself more practice she had been scouring the plains near Whiterun and even made her way to the little settlement called Ivarstead. _

_There was an abundance of deer around the town. So many trees provided cover whereas the open plains near Whiterun exposed them too much, so naturally they were not as easy to come by. But through the journey to the settlement she had managed to kill three of them stealthily, two of them by running after them with a sword drawn, and five of which were just plain accidental good luck because they happened to fall over a cliff or trip on a rock and splinter their skulls while running away. _

_Not exactly fair kills but kills nonetheless. Maybe if she fashioned better weapons, a stronger bow or some elven arrows may give a better edge but she didn't know how to make those. Of course she could always ask Eorlund Gray-Mane to give her some pointers when she returned. It would probably be best in the long run if she worked on learning the craft better. She was naturally prone to weapon making anyways. _

_Rose had paid for a room at the inn a few hours ago, leaving most of her things there she sat hunched at the end of the stone bridge leading into town. There was a small cove on the right next to the mountain that was frequented by deer it was just a matter of waiting for them to show up. _

_Her legs were falling asleep as she remained as still as possible in such an uncomfortable position but eventually the waiting paid off and a large buck lead two females into the open area to graze. _

_Reaching behind her she pulled out an arrow, slow and silent and notched it, ready to draw the bow strings and take down one of them. She had her eye on the buck. The antlers would definitely come in handy later when she was making potions to sell and some for her own personal use. _

_She stood quickly, bow ready and aimed, but a low snarl broke the silence and the deer fled in blind panic. By the time the arrow soared through the air to where the buck had once been it was too late and the arrow head sunk into the dirt with a depressing noise that sounded humiliatingly like her 100__th__ failure. _

_A large wolf snapped at the hind legs of one of them but it kicked back, bruising the wolf's nose making it whimpered in pain. Its yellow eyed gaze caught sight of her and it charged. A band of villagers were shouting and pointing at the spectacle and one of the men was advancing, brandishing a heavy mace as his boots clomped loudly over the stone._

_Rosalind grabbed another arrow and shot it just as the wolf lept at her. The steel tip hit catching it in the chest sharply and sinking deep into the animal as it snarled and fell into the water, its head hitting the stone bridge on the way down leaving a pool of hemorrhaging blood to ooze between the cracks._

_The man fell short, stopping and lowering his arm to let the mace dangle from his fingertips as he stared at her awestricken. His pride wounded by the loss of the kill and failure to rescue her, he was slightly embarrassed and he scoffed as he turned away to stroll back towards the main road grumbling, "Beginner's luck." _

_Rose climbed down the hill to the dead animal and pulled out her dagger, going to work on skinning it, cleaving the pelt from the carcass. When she was finished she draped it over her shoulder and traversed back to the small town. It had taken at least an hour to thoroughly slice away the dark fur and it was getting late, nearing evening. _

_She approached the small farm and proceeded to using the tanning rack set up in back to turn the fur into leather. The knife scraped over the hide and for a moment she stopped. Her hand cupping her chin as she tried to decide whether or not to make strips out of it. It would cut down on weight but once it was sliced up there was no getting it back. _

_In the midst of contemplation a woman's scream pierced the air. Rosalind lurched to her feet and peeked around the corner of the house as a small Breton woman dashed across the bridge, a woven mahogany basket clutched in her hand as it dangled from her right elbow. An alchemist gathering plants most likely. _

_A man in simple farming clothes was the first person she grabbed, accosting him making him drop the rake with a clatter. She held his arm and she pointed and screamed at the little cove where the deer had been. It was possible she was having hysterics over the slain wolf but when a crowd had gathered and began peering over at the plot of land it made her saunter down to join them. _

"_I don't see anything." The man teetered, a hand angled to form a bridge over his graying eyebrows in an attempt to keep the fading sunlight out of his eyes as he sought out the woman's discomfort. _

_She pointed, jabbing her finger in earnest. "It's there! I saw it!"_

_Rose jostled through the gathering of people to stand at her side. "What did you see?"_

"_A-" She stumbled over her words as if she didn't know what she saw, just that she saw something. "A creature. I saw it." She insisted. _

"_Well it's gone now," the farmer lamented and reached down to gather the rake he had dropped. He swung it over his shoulder and balanced it by the handle. "If you don't mind I'm going home to my wife now. I suggest you all go home." He rolled his eyes as they all turned away to take the older man's advice. The masses moved sluggishly as though disappointed and the Breton girl looked down at her feet, her cheeks tinted a bright red as she dashed away in a rush to run away from her embarrassment. _

_Rosalind watched them leave before going to investigate the woman's 'creature' theory. _

_The leaves gave under her footfalls, crackling and crunching as she walked through the trees and ducked under branches. A twig snapped and she halted, looking over to the left she heard the leaves rattling like something was running through them. Following the noise she noted that she was closing in on it and whatever it was wasn't big by any means. _

_It may be a baby deer or a rabbit. _

_She came to a grove of trees a little ways north of the cove she was hunting at earlier and distinctly heard a whimper that sounded very dog like. At the base of a tree just ahead was a baby wolf pup, scared and backed up against it with no place left to run, shivering as it yapped at her amidst a pile of yellow, green, and red leaves. _

_A smile touched her face at its big and bad act. Cautiously she moved slowly towards it. It barked again, hunching against the tree when she came to crouch before its puny form. The little wolf was colored with tints of black, a rusty brown, and white. _

_Reaching a hand out she grabbed the loose skin on the back of his neck where the mom would carry him, pulling just enough to make him go stiff as a natural response. She lifted him and placed her left hand just beneath his tiny rump to support his weight. His puffy little tail curled between his legs in submission and he whimpered again, ears falling back making him shrink and appear smaller. _

_Although shaken and obviously scared he was relaxing in her arms, neither snarling nor snapping and she stood, cradling his small body to her chest to keep him warm as she trudged back the way she came. _

_There was a fleeting thought to just abandon her belongings at the inn considering she doubted they would be very enthusiastic to her new company, but she really needed the things in her knapsack. Extra weapons, jewels, healing potions, and her journal complete with a chunk of charcoal were situated in it and it was all relatively important. _

_She nudged the wooden door open after stuffing the small puppy into her armor, which he was both happy for the warmth and greatly upset to be smothered by the material and not be permitted to see. Hoping to sneak by and avoid suspicion from the man at the counter was just too much to ask for as soon as she had made it halfway to her room the pup decided to let loose all holy hell. Screeching and whining until she reached in and yanked him out. _

"_This is an inn, not an animal shelter. Please take that… wild animal outside." Wilhelm was scowling at her from behind the counter at this point, obviously displeased with the wolf in her grip and her deceitful attempts at sneaking him in. He was a paranoid old man babbling nonsense about ghosts and the living dead over at the Shroud Hearth Barrow, but he had still seemed an ok guy and she really couldn't blame him for being angry. _

"_Please, Wilhelm? Just for the night?" She begged, snuggling the so called wild animal closer to her chest and tucking his little head beneath her chin. She wasn't the best smooth talker and things like this usually went 50/50, but one thing usually tipped the scales and she smiled at him as charming as possible. "I'll pay you extra for the inconvenience." _

_Wilhelm sighed as he wiped down the counter and jabbed a thumb towards her room. "Don't let anyone see you," he growled. _

_Victory. She rushed into her room, not needing to be told twice and placed the puppy on the floor. It walked around sniffing at the new surroundings. It sat at the end of the bed, sniffing the wood of the bed frame. Tiny white teeth emerged from its muzzle and wrapped themselves around the new chew toy. _

"_No," Rose grabbed him, yanking him away from it quickly. Best squash bad habits before they start. He squirmed when she turned him over in her hands so he was lying on his back in her lap. "We do not chew furniture," she scolded firmly but he was too busy flopping onto his side and kicking out his little paws to get away to pay any attention, not that he understood anyway. _

_She let him go, watching as he walked around sniffing at things and nudging them with his nose. He wandered back to the bed and just as he was about to begin chewing again Rose smacked her hands together. The loud clapping startled the puppy and he drew back running away from the post and over to her. His wet nose burrowed under her leg, his front paws digging at her pants as he tried to hide. _

_Laughing she hoisted him into her arms. "I hope you learned your lesson." Petting his tiny head she rubbed behind his ears, looking him over. His honey yellow eyes were dropping as he hung suspended from her hands. His orange brown ears twitched at random sounds and it reminded her a little of Shabhira. _

_Pulling him closer she placed a kiss on top his head, running her fingers through his unusual pelt and playing with the claws on his adorable little paws. "I think I'll call you Gravuunah." _

Gurgling.

Panicked, labored, desperate.

Terrified wails echoing sorrow across the forest like so many wives in mourning.

Hooves.

Fleeting, straining, helpless.

Frenzied leaps over fallen tree trucks, pounding sprint bounding over the land like the blizzards in the northern tundra.

Scared tawny hide.

Bleeding, bruised, broken.

Oozing scarlet leaking from puncture wounds in rivets like flowing rivers scoured across Skyrim.

The deer fled, bounding through the trees and leaping over logs in desperation. Since the river a resounding pain throbbed in its hind leg, slowing its sprint down considerable. Any leap was splintering agony but the animal was so terrified.

Its heart was racing a mile a minute from labored exercise, mind numbing pain, and sheer horror. Its breathing was forced and its lungs were burning with the effort. The need to stop and rest much too great at this point but not optional as it lead its pursuers in random directions through the forest.

The were relentlessly giving chase and the deer was lost trying to shake them off its trail. The water seemed like a good plan but crossing the river had taken too much time, slowed it down far too much and opened it up to attack. In the water it was vulnerable and the wolf seized the opportunity, ripping the flesh from its leg.

The salty metallic smell and taste a promise of the jaws of the predator. The inevitable would come, was coming with each passing second as the hunters gained ground and the deer slowed with the crippling pain, the dizzying loss of blood. All it could do was run, run until it could no longer.

"_With all due respect companion I'd appreciate it if you muzzled that hound of yours. The howling from Jorrvaskr is getting out of hand." A Whiterun guard had caught her in the street as she mounted the stairs to Dragonsreach. He had seen her bring the pup into the city late at night and at this point he was under the impression it was just a dog. _

_Aela was positively radiating at the prospect of having a wolf cub, just for the irony of it all. She snatched the little thing out of her arms in earnest when Rosalind asked her to watch after it while she ran an errand for the Jarl. She had been neglectful of his tasks since getting the Dragonstone, being distracted with joining the companions and going into an ancient ruin with Farkas, who just happened to reveal the fact that The Circle was composed of werewolves, was a lot to occupy her mind lately. _

_She bypassed the guard, ignoring him as she shoved the giant doors open. Approaching she took notice that the Jarl wasn't sitting in his throne as he usually was when she entered the keep and neither was his housecarl standing beside it. _

_She traipsed up the stairs to the right and found him speaking with her in great haste about troops waiting at the front door. When he noticed her standing there he walked over instantaneously, the look in his eyes was one of pure alarm. "I know I have no right to ask, but a dragon is attacking the western watchtower. Please, go see if there is anything you can do to help them." _

_Rose was going to respond when he held up a hand to silence her. "I know you have already helped enough and don't think I have forgotten about your getting the Dragonstone. I will compensate you for it later but right now we need all the help we can get." _

_Nodding she wasn't sure whether to be thankful for the prospect of payment, or insulted that he thought so little of her that he naturally just assumed that was her only means for helping in the first place. And to bring it up at a time like this… She was conflicted but went to help anyway. _

_Practically jogging out of the keep and down the stairs she ran through the districts to see a group of soldiers waiting at the front gate. They must be waiting for Irileth but she was in no mood to stand around so she passed by them and out the main gate. She knew where this tower was so she could just meet them there, which was precisely the plan. _

_Of course with her head start she had made it there first. The place was in shambles, tower knocked to pieces with bricks littering the ground. Things were singed from fire and some were still burning. A guard was screaming from the only remaining structure left. "It's coming back!"_

_The dragon swooped down, wrapped an innocent soul in its talons and throwing him through the air. Wherever he landed it was a safe bet that he was not alive. _

_Drawing her bow she shot arrows at the winged creature. Its heavy scales provided a great means of protection but they were slowly giving way allowing the mighty beast to becoming injured with the barrage of arrows piercing its wings and abdomen. With a great roar it released a searing spray of fire, singing bodies in its wake, ear splitting screams tearing through the air until voices became horse and ceased forever. _

_Finally the great beast landed, unable to fly any longer and everyone charged, melee weapons drawn. Rosalind produced a steel sword, hacking and slashing at the beast as her left hand conjured a stray of electrical shock to rain down on the scales. _

_The dragon roared, snapping its jaws. Ducking she barely escaped becoming the things lunch and she thrust the sword up, cleaving into the juncture of its jaw and throat. "No, Dovahkiin!" _

_Its roar dying on its last breath, neck going slack as its head plummeted to the Earth below. For a long moment everything was silent. The soldiers standing around the dead dragon in awe and relief to still be alive. Most never thought they would be able to defeat a creature of legend now matter what the Dark Elf said. _

_A crackling began as the dragon's body began turning into fire, flame licking the flesh, incinerating everything until all that remained was the skeleton beneath. Its soul and life-force swirling in the air as the spirit was claimed and absorbed by Rosalind. _

_Confusion and murmuring erupted over the mass of soldiers, "Dragonborn!"_

_Rosalind was too far out of it to make out anything they were saying at this point, but when the high finally died down they were cheering and Irileth was telling her to return to Dragonsreach. _

_Exceedingly anxious to get away from the bizarre experience she sprinted back to Whiterun. _

_Nords imagine the experience of absorbing a soul is some kind of powerful hyper awareness like drinking a stamina potion. In reality it is like drinking too much tree sap and washing it down with an extra strong bottle of skooma or a mead. _

_It makes one lightheaded and a raging fire of warmth spreads throughout the body from the center until your fingertips tingle with numbness. A queasiness builds in the stomach till you think your intestines are about to burst, vision goes blurry and hallucinations dance behind the eyelids. The beginning is overpowering, burning the skin like a fever. It becomes increasingly difficult to stand still as legs lock up and begin to quake. Electricity in the veins dance around, numbing appendages till you feel like your about to double over. Once the initial numbing sets in everything just becomes a euphoric high, like being impaired by drink or some other drug. _

_It truly is an experience, but not always pleasant. _

_As she sprinted for the gate her eyes were focused ahead on one thing. The touches illuminating the night like a beacon of safety. Suddenly the Earth shook, a rattling overtook the sky as a thundering voice rained over Skyrim, seeking, calling, "Dovahkiin!" _

The time had come when the prey fell, tripping over and unable to rise up. The wolf pounced, teeth like daggers sinking into its leg as it kicked and screamed. The huntress emerged from the woods, arrow soaring and sinking into the long expanse of its throat.

A fountain of blood sprayed from the puncture wound covering its dying twisted body. The deer's thumping heart, still erratic from the chase, forced the blood out all the faster until its legs gave one last effort before falling still.

Gravuunah released his grip, his snarling ending with the deer's life and he swung his head around. His tongue lolled out as he panted happily, tail wagging and ears back as Rose drew a dagger and made a point to scratch his head in praise on her way over to the kill.

Sitting by the deer she carved off the pelt first then began slicing out chunks of venison, tossing a couple pieces over to her exhausted companion who snapped them up anxiously. She smiled at him when he yawned and stretched out his front legs, paws widening as he sunk to sprawl out in the dirt, content to rest at her side as she carried on with her strange mortal tasks.

_A transformation is always excruciating. _

_Even those unhindered by Lycanthropy would be able to guess such a blatantly obvious thing. _

_The first transformation is powerful, the most feral, and near impossible to remember. Unlike a great many of those inflicted with the disease Rosalind could recall every detail until the point of blacking out and waking up naked in freezing snow. Aela standing over her holding her clothing, a satisfied prideful smile on her face. Her blood had been the source of such rampant chaos or as she called it true greatness and this pleased her considerably. _

_There was no way of knowing whether Aela spoke true but to think that she had caused more pandemonium than Farkas made her exceedingly curious how that could ever be possible. Farkas was probably the most powerful Nord she had ever come across. _

_By his own admission he was strong, but not smart. She could easily picture him being a great handful during his transformation. Actually she had back at the barrow and if she though he was a sight then imagine him during his first ever experience. _

_It was mind boggling. _

_Heart racing as adrenaline ran thicker than blood through the body. The shattering and popping of bone as it cracked and reshaped into a wolf resembling shape. Normal people don't realize this but even the eyes burn during the transition. Tearing up to blur everything it's like watching the world through the ocean's surface as the irises change from their natural hue to deep honey gold for night vision. _

_Nails sharpen and extend along with teeth making blood rivet out as it rips flesh to accommodate the new advantages of natural weaponry. It's not like werewolves carry swords. Skin feels like it's on fire when the coat begins to form to serve as protection from attack and cold. _

_Ever moment is painful. _

_It's funny how ignorant people, especially those experimenters, comment that the ordeal only takes a few minutes, but if your finger was slammed in a door, would you say it's only been a few minutes? _

Rosalind remembers hearing the companions complain about the beast blood as she sits before the fire in the dead of night, watching the flames dance in the wind as sleep eludes her yet again. Gravuunah is resting peacefully at her side, the weight of his head on her thigh considering he fell asleep to the gentle caresses of her fingers. Her mind racing, unyielding to thoughts and memories, as she runs her hand over his pelt.

The very first day she had walked into the place Vilkas was lamenting the difficulty of it all. How hard it was to control. She must have gotten lucky because she has never experienced losing control or even a struggle over dominance with the wolf spirit. But it could also be the dragon blood, its power unyielding to beast or mortal, the dominate sustenance in her veins has no patience to even pretend to entertain rebellion from the other two.

The very life force of a creature created of unhindered power was born into her, masquerading in mortal flesh, jubilant and prideful at another successful hunt.

* * *

**Author's Note**: This started as an idea while I was working on my _5 Tenets_ story. I find a lot of fictions about Lucien but they all involve him and the Hero of Kvatch so I wanted to do something different. So without giving too much away this is a what if story about what would happen if Skyrim's Dark Brotherhood Listener got to meet Lucien in person, but more as the victim than an actual member, hahaha. Hope you enjoy it.


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